You Stole My Heart
by Black-Tie-Plum
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a pickpocket, his favourite prey being London's unsuspecting tourists. One day after stealing a phone from a man named Alfred F. Jones, he receives a call on it. Against his better judgement, he answers, only to have his life turned upside-down by the events that follow when Alfred turns to vigilantism in an attempt to retrieve what was stolen from him.
1. The unfortunate grabbing incident

Arthur plucked a smart-phone out of a pocket.

Arthur Kirkland had a rather unconventional hobby. It was something that most morally-sound people would not condone. As a low-income young adult, Arthur found it difficult to make ends meet. So, from his point of view it made absolute sense for him to turn to petty crime as a way for him to feed and clothe himself, pay the incredibly steep rent for his London flat, _and_ if he was lucky, have a tiny amount of disposable income left afterwards. Theft just made sense to Arthur.

Arthur fished a purse out of an open bag.

With two years without capture under his belt, Arthur could quite proudly say that he was very good at his 'job'. He considered himself to be swift and cunning, his litheness enabled him to snake through crowds and his minding-my-own-business attitude removed him from suspicion. In his two years as a thief, Arthur had developed a routine, he kept his criminal activity well organised, visiting certain areas often enough, but not frequently enough for him to be spotted.

A rushing commuter brushed past him and Arthur gained a wallet.

Dressed fit for any bog standard city job - dark suit, large grey coat, and black scarf - Arthur moved swiftly through the tired throng. He joined a mass of people heading towards a lift and in the duration of time that they were all packed together like sardines, the bag in front of him suddenly became lighter by approximately one i-pod.

Arthur shot off as soon as the doors opened. He walked to the platform and 'dropped' a handful of coins, then preceded to relieve the man who stopped to help him of his camera.

In two hours of prowling around The Underground Arthur has become; four phones, one camera, five wallets, and an i-pod richer. All of his prizes secured well in hidden pockets on his person.

It was midday when Arthur decided that he could start heading home. He boarded the next train that stopped, preparing to go home and sift through his spoils. The carriage was a lot busier than Arthur expected and contrary to what he would've liked, he had to stand, squeezed up against a glass panel.

In no time Arthur noticed that the three men standing in front of him were tourists. It was made painfully obvious by the loud man with an American accent who refused to be respectfully quiet despite the man who looked like his relative, softly telling him to 'shut the fuck up'. The third member of the group, had a rucksack on, it was about the size of a small child and he had a very expensive looking camera hanging around his neck. From the conversation that occurred right in front of Arthur, he discovered that their names were Alfred, Matthew, and Kiku.

They all had their backs to Arthur and the man in the middle, Alfred - Arthur heard the man next to him calling him - had a nice, shiny, new-looking i-phone poking out of the back pocket of his baggy jeans.

Arthur really didn't have a choice in the matter. If someone had an expensive gadget on show like that, it had already been decided by the Gods of pick-pocketing that it would be stolen. And well, if Arthur didn't steal it, someone else would.

He decided to do it slowly, the chances were that the man would notice a sudden lack of presence in a back-pocket. Arthur thought that easing it out would be a better option. He set his stance, looking at the map of the jubilee line on the wall of the carriage, he gently lifted the phone from the pocket.

The carriage rocked suddenly, causing the passengers to jostle around and grab for some sort of holding.

Unfortunately for Arthur, the only thing for him to hold onto was the man in front of him. And even more unfortunately for Arthur, his hand happened to be in not a very good place. So inevitably, when Arthur lurched forward, his outstretched hand came into contact with Alfred's backside. It was entirely plausible for someone to misunderstand and assume that what was occurring, was an extremely enthusiastic - and a little bit violent - arse grab. What a terrible misunderstanding.

The apparent arse grab victim, Alfred, squawked loudly and jumped into the air. He promptly hit his head on the carriage ceiling and fell onto one of his friends.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The one who was apparently called Matthew shouted, pushing Alfred off him.

"ME!" Alfred yelled, slapping his chest to indicate that he was indeed talking about himself. "That, guy fucking grabbed my ass!" Alfred pointed at Arthur and the entire carriage craned their necks to get a good look at the groper. Arthur shrinks under all the disgusted looks being thrown his way.

"I did no such thing!" Arthur shouted, red faced and instantly regretting his over-sensitive reaction.

"Woah, you grabbed my butt. Don't even try denying it!" Alfred countered, an incredulous look on his face.

"It was an accident."

"You tried to pull my damn cheek off!"

"I fell, you idiot. I didn't mean to touch your arse."

The short but heated spat ended quickly when Kiku, nudged the angry American, "Alfred-san, this is our stop."

Arthur and Alfred separated with an angrily hissed "asssssss-grabber." from Alfred and an equally angry obscene hand gesture from Arthur.

After Arthur's anger fizzled out, he noticed with much glee that he'd succeeded in stealing Alfred's i-phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked it over. He didn't even feel the tiniest itch of guilt that he had with one, swift action, probably ruined Alfred's visit to London, however long it might be. No, definitely not. Nope, not at all...

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><p>Thank you for reading.<p>

This should go on for at least six chapters because right now at the time of me writing this I have roughly that many chapters planned out. It'll hopefully be longer than that... As long as I don't get bored with it :/

I have gone back and edited this so that the chapter is now written is the past tense. If anyone feels that they'd prefer it in present tense, then please leave a quick review saying so because I still have the old version saved and I can easily change it back.


	2. I know where you live

Arthur was awoken by a shrill ringing. He rolled ungainly out of bed and shuffled blindly towards the source of the noise. Plodding into the kitchen, he wrapped his sheets around his body like a makeshift toga, having ripped them off his bed before venturing on a quest to kill whatever was making that God-awful noise.

There was a phone on the coffee table, vibrating and with a glowing screen. Yawning loudly, Arthur picked the device up and held it to his ear.

"Hello." He mumbled through a yawn, rubbing his tired eyes as he started to wake up. It was nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, the sun was too bright for Arthur's eyes, the sounds of London - already awake and busy - were too loud, he wondered what sort of evil person would phone him at such a disgusting hour on one of his days off.

"Oh, um, hey." An obnoxious voice said, echoing around Arthur's sleep addled mind. "Thank God someone answered!" The voice sounded familiar to Arthur, he couldn't match it to a face but he knew he'd heard it somewhere before.

"Sorry, who is this?" Arthur asked abruptly, he'd been unceremoniously woken by this idiot and he definitely wasn't putting up with any rubbish from the mystery caller. God help them if they were trying to sell him something.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Alfred Jones. You must've picked my phone up. I left it on the train yesterday. But I'm so happy you answered, I was shitting myself thinking I'd lost it forever."

That was enough to wake Arthur up completely. He stared at the phone in his hand, it was one of his stolen ones. He must have forgotten to remove the batteries like usual. Arthur sighed in annoyance and placed the phone on the coffee table slowly, he sat down next to it, staring at the device with his hands clasped together and held in front of his face.

The poor boy - Alfred - didn't know that it was Arthur who had taken his phone, he didn't know he was talking to the thief.

"If you want, I'll give you a reward or something if you drop it off at my hotel sometime today" Alfred said, his loud voice could still be heard clearly, even though the phone wasn't being held to Arthur's ear. He sounded so hopeful and trusting, and honestly Arthur's heart broke a little because he'd sooner fuck himself with rusty cutlery than willingly give Alfred his phone back.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." Arthur picked the phone back up. He hoped that Alfred would pick up on his tone and give up on ever getting his phone back.

"Why?" The reply from Alfred was short and quiet, Arthur tensed in reaction to the coldness of the answer. Maybe Alfred did suspect that his phone had been stolen and was just trying to guilt Arthur into returning it. Cheeky sod.

Arthur ended the call. He turned the phone off and put in into a large black suitcase, ready for him to sell on Tuesday alongside the rest of his stolen goodies.

* * *

><p>Arthur walked back to his flat as it started getting dark. He'd eaten dinner at a recently opened restaurant that belonged to a childhood friend of his; a Frenchman named Francis Bonnefoy. Who, when asked, Arthur would deny that he has anything to do with.<p>

Of course, Francis didn't know about Arthur's 'hobby'.

Arthur made sure to keep his friends and family in the dark about his criminal activities.

He wondered through the streets of London and waiting to cross the road, Arthur looked up at the dark sky on a whim. It would be pitch black if not for the flashing lights of aircraft that floated across the black like lazy comets.

Arthur shuddered when a drop of rain suddenly splashed on his forehead. It was followed by the quick pitter-patter of its brethren wetting the concrete. Arthur scowled and quickened his pace, tugging the hood of his two-sizes-too-big black hoodie up over his head.

Of course it would rain the one time he had neither an umbrella or a coat, typical. It really wouldn't do to get a cold with Christmas coming up - all those Christmas shoppers flocking to London with their money and their carelessness. Always such a busy time for pickpockets.

He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his hands and made a dash for his front door through the cold rain. Unbeknownst to Arthur there were three men sitting across the road from his front door in a car with tinted black windows, awaiting his arrival with baited breath.

"Ssshhhh, guys! There's someone going in!"

"Alfred-san. They can't hear u-"

"Ssssshhhhhhhhh!"

Alfred, Matthew, and Kiku watched as Arthur -his face hidden by his hood - struggled to unlock his front door, the sudden downpour making his keys slippery, hindering his ability to grip both his shopping bags and open the front door at the same time. After an aggressive struggle, Arthur eventually opened the door and the three men watched it shut behind his retreating figure, none the wiser as to the identity of the thief.

"So that's who stole your phone." Matthew broke the silence and looked expectantly at Alfred who didn't say anything, he was too busy squinting at the closed door, as if he were trying to stare a hole through it.

"Shouldn't we report this to the police?" Kiku commented sensibly and Alfred looked over at his friend.

"No!" He said, affronted. "We can't get the cops involved in this. I bet they wouldn't do anything about it anyways."

Matthew slumped down in his seat. "Can't we just report it and go back to the hotel. We've been sitting here for ages."

The three sat in silence for a moment and Matthew and Kiku shared a anxious look, unnerved by Alfred's quietness.

Having obviously come to some sort of decision, Alfred turned to his friends. "We can leave, but I'm not calling the cops." He buckled his seatbelt and started the car. "I'll come back later, break in, do some mission impossible shit and get my cell phone back. It'll be fucking awesome!" Alfred grinned at his two companions who - going from their looks of annoyance - didn't seem to be very enthused over Alfred's plan in the slightest.

Alfred ignored their pleas of 'You're going to get yourself killed' and 'that sounds like a really bad idea, Alfred-san', and drove them back to their hotel.

* * *

><p>Alfred waited until the next day to begin his daring quest. Dressed all in black, he'd dipped two fingers in black paint, smearing lines on his cheeks in a recreation of what he'd seen in movies.<p>

He'd been waiting in his car for most of the day, alternating between watching the front door that led to the third floor flat of the thief, munching on burgers, and using the Wi-Fi that belonged to the house he was parked in front of.

Alfred had started to doze off when suddenly the door he was watching flew open. A red-headed man, wearing a tartan scarf and a long black coat rushed away from the building. Alfred watched the man he suspected of stealing from him disappear around the corner, he supposed he'd meet the man in court once Alfred proved him guilty

Alfred walked up to the door as quickly as possible, before stopping a few steps away from it. Now that he'd got this far he wasn't actually sure how he was going to break into the flat. He'd brought a hair pin and a credit card with him because that's what they used in movies, but he had no idea what he was planning on doing with them. He pondered the issue briefly, before shrugging and walking over to inspect the door.

To Alfred's amazement, he found that the doormat had bunched up beneath the door that the man hadn't stuck around to shut and lock properly. The mat had prevented the door from shutting and with a gentle push it opened to reveal a steep staircase that led to the thief's flat.

Alfred celebrated his luck with a mini fist pump before remembering that he didn't know when the thief would be returning. He only had so long to find his phone and get out.

Reaching the top of the stairs Alfred entered the thief's home. It was an nice place, from what Alfred could see anyway. The large kitchen-living room that greeted him had large windows, opened as wide as they could they could be, letting in a formidable chill. Despite the wide-open windows there was an obvious haze around the place, like someone had been smoking. Alfred sniffed, it smelt like burning.

He searched around the place, looking through the drawers and cupboards. He didn't care if he left a mess, he just wanted to find his phone and get the hell out of there. After throwing a stack of books to the floor and practically climbing inside a cabinet trying to see if his phone was hidden at the back, Alfred's eyes fell on a suitcase propped up against a wall next to a door.

Alfred walked over and unzipped it. His mouth fell open when he saw the large suitcase was full to bursting point with wads of money, phones, jewellery, and countless other things that Alfred was too shocked to really think about. He quickly searched through the plastic bag full of phones, praying to God that his was in there. When he found the i-phone with the familiar American flag case, he shoved it into his pocket.

"Back already, Alistair? Did you forget your money?"

Alfred jumped as a voice came from behind the door that he was crouching in front of. He hurried to his feet just as the door opened.

"You?"

"What's going on?"

"YOU!" Alfred screamed in the face of a familiar blonde with heavy eyebrows. "It's you!" He pointed in disbelief and jumped up and down on the spot. "You fucking jerk! Grabbing my ass, then stealing my phone, that's fucking low, dude!"

"I fell!" The man yelled, face an angry red. "It was a bleeding accident, you moron."

"So then you admit to stealing from me." Alfred grinned in satisfaction.

"Wha- No! Wait! Why are you in my flat?" The angry man shoved past Alfred and lunged for a kitchen knife and Alfred really didn't want to stick around and see what he was going to do with it. He took advantage of the man's turned back and fled back the way he came. He leapt into his car and sped off, tires screeching in protest.

Alfred had his phone back, at least. But what was he going to do? That, Alfred realised as he drove through London, was probably one of the most fun things he'd ever done. He could still feel the adrenalin surging through his veins, whipping up a storm of buzzing excitement, he'd felt so alive in that moment of madness and he if he was honest with himself, he actually wanted to do it all over again.

That was when Alfred decided that it would be a massive mistake to give up now, when he could be the one to bring the thief to justice. He could be a hero...

Yeah. That sounded like a great idea.

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><p>Thank you for reading. Please review. I'd love to hear any feedback you have for this so far.<p> 


	3. Toad in the hole

A mahoooosive thank you for the reviews I've had so far. I really appreciate them so please keep 'em coming. :p

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><p>It could be said that Alfred was very committed, a devoted and passionate young man. Or it could also be said that he simply had far too much free time. Free time that he used to nurture his growing obsession with the thief.<p>

Alfred was surprised at the gap left in his life that appeared during the days after Matthew and Kiku's departures from London. He missed having his friends by his side, London was lonely for him and thanks to the unsavoury activities of Arthur, the adventure of moving to a new country to further his career, hopefully make his fortune and some new friends, had been ruined.

In order to distract himself from homesickness and to ward off unwanted moments of loneliness, Alfred immersed himself in the world of Arthur Kirkland.

Believe it or not, Alfred was new to vigilantism. Sure he'd seen all the Batman movies and read the comics, but Alfred was unluckily not in possession of enough money to run a small country, an awesome butler, or insanely cool combat skills.

Instead Alfred would have to rely on his natural charisma, boy-next-door charm, and wholesome good looks to deliver justice upon his arch nemesis; the evil pickpocket.

Two days ago when Alfred had fled from Arthur's apartment, pursued by the knife wielding thief, he hadn't known Arthur's name or anything about him. In an attempt to remedy that and waste time, Alfred employed the simple methods of intercepting the thief's mail and using the internet.

The letters were all addressed to an Arthur Kirkland. Of course Alfred considered that the thief might not actually own the house, he could have stolen it, you know being a thief and all. He could have his mail addressed to a fake name. He could just be crashing at a friend's house.

Alfred quickly deduced from a google of the name and the area, that Arthur Kirkland was the thief's name. It felt like a small victory and he bought himself a celebratory burger.

Further clicking introduced Alfred to a nice selection of social media pages belonging to Arthur.

Arthur's photos were the first thing that Alfred looked at. The first one was funny; a photo someone had tagged Arthur in, he had a scowl on his face and was in the middle of eating a sandwich. The second one was equally funny, if slightly fuzzy, it was a group photo of six people - Alfred couldn't actually point out Arthur due to the people being covered in paint and mud - they were all laughing and looking like they were just generally enjoying themselves.

The third picture was horrible. Absolutely horrible.

The thief was smiling... He was smiling right at Alfred from within his laptop screen. Preserved for eternity in that one horrifyingly happy photo. He was brandishing a glass of what Alfred assumed was alcohol, the first few buttons of his white shirt undone, his black tie loose around his neck. Messy blonde hair, bright sparkling green eyes, formidable brows made less formidable by the fact that there wasn't a frown on his face.

That was the last photo Alfred could bare to look at. He couldn't see the thief happy and - dare he say it - handsome...

It wasn't right! This man was a criminal.

It had been so much easier to hate him before Alfred had seen that photo.

After a thorough scan of Facebook and Twitter, Alfred discovered that the Arthur worked evenings at 'John's Chippie' - a place guilty of the most atrocious human rights violations in history, if Arthur's descriptions and complaints were to be taken literally. He was a music enthusiast, a literature snob, a member of a punk-rock band during his teenage years, and he had four brothers.

It was when Alfred was about three years deep into Arthur's Facebook account, reading a post complaining about the shitty film adaptation of a book he'd read _years_ ago and 'utterly adored' when Alfred realised that the thief was actually just a normal guy - albeit one with a weird hobby.

From his cynical Facebook statuses and scathingly sarcastic tweets, Alfred would have never suspected Arthur of being anything more than a stuffy, book lover with an affinity for classic punk rock.

It shocked Alfred so much that he felt compelled to see for himself if Arthur actually was as cold hearted a criminal as Alfred had built him up to be in his mind.

* * *

><p>Alfred had been right.<p>

The man was evil. Pure evil dressed in a sharp suit and a snug black trench coat. Alfred didn't even notice hw the coat hugged Arthur's slender body so very nicely, or how his light golden hair was rumpled in an adorably bed-headed way. Alfred was far more interested in what the thief was doing with his hands.

Long fingers swept deftly into a man's pocket and retrieved a wallet.

Alfred was fuming. He'd been willing to give Arthur a second chance and maybe if he'd shown any signs of repentance Alfred might have forgiven him. Alfred liked to think that he was a very forgiving person.

But no. There Arthur was _stealing_ from the unsuspecting public. It was terrible to see it in action, Alfred felt like a criminal, just standing back and letting it happen.

Alfred suddenly had an idea. He whipped out his phone - the same one that he had stolen back from that evil piece of crap, Arthur - and began to film Arthur stealing. It was an ingenious idea if Alfred did say so himself. After getting three successful pickpocketings on camera, Alfred put his pone back in his pocket and went back to simply observing Arthur.

Alfred noticed that Arthur was with the man that he'd seen hurriedly leaving Arthur's apartment two days earlier.

Maybe they were together, Alfred didn't know, they didn't look like they were in a relationship from the amount of shoving and punching they were casually doing. But hey, who was Alfred to judge, if that was how they expressed affection then that was their business. But he carried on following them until they came to a small cafe.

They sat by the window and Alfred settled at an outside table belonging to a Starbucks opposite the cafe. He had a clear view of the two as the tucked into their meals and chatted. He realised suddenly how alike the two looked.

They had similar bottle green eyes beneath identical furrowed caterpillar-brows. Alfred decided that they must be brothers, there was no other explanation. Those stormy eyebrows couldn't be so common that two unrelated people would both be afflicted by them, Alfred concluded that they must be a very unfortunate family trait.

Alfred left the Starbucks with a paper cup full of caffeinated goodness before Arthur and his brother finished eating. He'd seen enough. Arthur obviously didn't feel any guilt about having stolen Alfred's phone as he was still up to no good. It actually made Alfred feel a little disappointed. He'd naively thought that the thief would change his ways now that Alfred had given him a reality check.

Obviously people weren't as good as Alfred liked to think.

* * *

><p>Arthur knew that he was being followed almost immediately after he stepped outside. There was definitely someone hiding in the shadows, someone who's footsteps echoed jarringly through the empty streets. It was cold and dark, hardly anyone was wondering around and it made it painstakingly obvious when the loud footfalls trailed Arthur and Allistor despite them walking down stupidly narrow alleyways.<p>

Arthur had only left his flat so that he could visit the 24 hour Tesco five minutes away and buy a ready-made curry and some milk. He'd ruined the toad in the hole he'd tried to make - apparently recipes aren't up for interpretation, who'd have thought it - and when Allistor had yelled that Arthur didn't have to cremate the bloody thing, he'd snapped and decided that it would be just be easier to buy something and warm it up in the microwave.

It was a blessing when they arrived in the brightly lit and heated shop. Arthur relaxed when no one entered the shop after them, at least they'd be able to buy food in peace. He and his brother split up to find the items they needed and when Arthur went over to get the milk he saw a pushchair left in the middle of the aisle.

He quickly looked around and found the owner, she was a young-mother holding her baby and was engaged with the self-service coffee machine. Arthur looked around again, this time for security cameras.

There were none that would be able to get a clear picture of what he was doing. There was a handbag in the underneath basket and with a 'don't mind if I do' attitude Arthur crouched down, pretending to do up his shoelaces.

Just as he was opening the handbag Arthur was hoisted to his feet and dragged outside by a strong hand gripping the hood of his coat.

"What the fuck are you doing? Unhand me, you twat! I didn't do anything."

Face pushed into the wall, Arthur tried to crane his neck to get a good look at his captor, but his arms were held tightly behind his back preventing him from turning and seeing the person who'd shoved him against the brickwork.

"What. Is. WRONG with you?"

He stopped struggling when he heard the far too familiar voice of Alfred.

"Of course." He laughed bitterly, "I should have bloody known it'd be you. You've only been stalking me for the best part of the week. Don't you have anything better to do, you sad freak?"

"Shut up." Alfred snapped and he let go of Arthur, he growled and pushed away from the wall, brushing the grime from the wall off his coat.

"You'll wake the whole street up! And you can't say shit to me after what I just saw."

"What did you see then, runt?" Arthur snarled potently, rubbing his wrist where Alfred had twisted it roughly.

"I saw you about to steal from a woman with a baby. Arthur, she had a baby with her and you were going to _steal _from her. Can't you see how twisted that is? Don't you have _any _morals?"

"Of course I do. But don't worry about me, love. I've securely repressed them for years now, it's much easier to do what I do without having that cunting conscience business everyone keeps banging on about."

The smug smirk that disfigured Arthur's otherwise handsome face was so repulsive that Alfred had to force himself not to punch the Brit.

"You disgust me."

"I don't give a rat's arse what you think of me."

"Well you should! You should care that you're a disgusting person."

"Piss off."

The looks they gave each other could've ignited to the air, they were that heated. The light from the mouth of the alley illuminating Alfred from the back, created a glow around Alfred. He looked like a vengeful angel preparing to smite Arthur for his sins.

"No." He walked towards Arthur and grabbed the front of his coat. "I've been watching you steal from innocent people. I even filmed you in the act."

Arthur visibly paled.

"That's a load of bollocks."

"Is it?"

"You're bluffing."

"Am I? Do you really want to take that risk? I could take the video to the police and I could get you locked up." Alfred didn't normally enjoy being menacing and nasty, but for Arthur Kirkland he'd make an exception.

A voice interrupted the conversation. It was Allistor and he sounded frustrated to the point of no return.

"Arthur, are you out here? Arthur! Where on God's Earth did that idiot disappear to? Arthur!" The man yelled into the night in an accent that Alfred noticed sounded broadly Scottish in contrast to Arthur's very very English one.

He walked past the mouth of the alley-way, Alfred caught a clear look at the man. It was Arthur's brother, the one he'd seen him with at the cafe. The man paused but didn't venture into the dark alley.

There was no way for him to see Alfred and Arthur in the shadows, the two men stayed as silent as they possible could be. Even their breathing became silence.

Allistor skulked away muttering profanities, Arthur and Alfred let out the breaths they were holding.

The silence was the loudest silence Alfred had ever heard and he waited for Arthur to answer his brother. He really wanted Arthur to call for help, but the look on the Englishman's face clearly stated that that was never happening _ever_.

"He doesn't know does he?" Arthur's muteness was enough of an answer. Alfred laughed.

"Wow. So you're lying to your family! Well I wouldn't put it past you, yanno after all that stealing you've done. So that's another thing I can use as leverage. Artie you're making this _way_ too easy for me."

Alfred leered at Arthur hoping to provoke a reaction, but Arthur maintained his silence. He resigned himself to throwing the filthiest looks at Alfred. His silence was prideful and stubborn, but Alfred could see worry in the thief's bright green eyes.

This was the closest Alfred had ever been to Arthur and it was filling Alfred with a weird kind of excitement. He was a little dizzy on adrenaline, he felt like he was living out a movie. He took a deep breath and recited the speech he had come up with the night before, trying with all his might to embody that bad-ass vigilante he knew he could be.

"I know what type of person you are, you steal and take advantage of people. You can say that you steal because you don't have a choice, but I don't believe you. Those people you steal from, how do you know that they aren't worse off than you. I'm going to deal with you, I'll keep an eye on you. I'll keep you in line and make sure that you never steal again."

He paused for dramatic effect. "But mark my words, if I ever catch you pickpocketing again, I won't hesitate to turn you over to the police."

They shared a menacing silence, both equally unyielding and obstinate in their stalemate of sorts. Alfred was happy that he hadn't messed up his speech, but his contentment evaporated when Arthur shoved him away, snarling and surprisingly strong for such a slim man.

"You're a naive child, and by far the stupidest person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. But whatever... Have a go, if you must." Arthur walked away with a thinly veiled looked of disgust on his face.

Alfred almost didn't hear the mutter that followed, Arthur had turned his back on him, his hands in his pockets and his posture slouched. For a moment he looked small and fragile, Alfred felt a surge of pity and heartache before he savagely squashed the feelings in panic.

"It won't work. You're an optimistic fool if you think it will."

And Arthur disappeared around the corner and into the night.

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><p>Shout out to the bae, toad in the hole. You are sorely under-appreciated, my friend.<p>

Thank for reading this chapter and please review, I love to hear from you. ;p


	4. The Three Doves

Alfred's plan wasn't working. It'd been two weeks since he'd moved to London, a week since Arthur had stolen his phone, and a day since he'd started his new job.

It had been more stressful than his life had ever been before. Despite the job being exactly the same as the one he'd done back in the States, it was proving impossible for him to juggle his Arthur harassing duties with the move from the hotel he'd been living in, to his comfortable, newly decorated home.

It was really making him stressed. He wasn't really getting enough sleep, he wasn't eating as much as he usually did and his plan _wasn't working!_

He'd planned on reforming Arthur, he'd thought that he could make Arthur a better person, a moral citizen. Alfred had wanted to give it a couple of days before he put his plan into action, allowing Arthur a few days to steep in paranoia induced madness, forcing him to marinate in his guilt.

So imagine Alfred's shock when during a routine-ish check on Arthur's daily routine, he spotted him talking to an old man- admittedly that in itself was actually a good development; but what Alfred saw left him feeling wretched to the very sinews of his soul.

Arthur was talking to the elderly man, friendly and polite with a gentle smile on his face, one steady hand on the old man's sloping back, another equally steady hand dipping into his pocket.

Arthur cheerfully waved goodbye to the man, sending him off towards the nearest station. As the man turned his back on Arthur to hobble over to the traffic lights, Arthur's smile slid off his face. His face went completely cold and withdrawn as he stared after the elderly gentleman. He smoothed his hair back and flipped open the wallet he'd gained from the encounter. Alfred watched, sick to his stomach and repulsed to a degree that he hadn't previously ever thought possible, as Arthur plucked a small rectangle of paper from the wrinkled leather wallet and flicked it onto the wet and dirty ground.

Arthur promptly disappeared into the crowd and Alfred walked to where Arthur had been standing. He glanced down. A tiny photograph looked back up at him, grubby from the shoes of pedestrians and wet from the perpetually damp London ground. Alfred knelt down and picked the soggy paper up. Two young girls, grinning out of the photo with wide and unashamed smiles, innocent to the evils of the world, they wore their hair in identical plaited styles. They were probably the old man's granddaughters, he would never see this picture again, he would most likely never be reunited with his wallet and all that it contained.

Alfred slipped the tiny piece of dirty paper into his own wallet.

* * *

><p>"Hey Arthur!"<p>

The familiar voice that Arthur wished he wasn't so familiar with sent a chill running down his spine and he ran his hands forcefully over his face in frustration.

He was with Francis.

That meant that the two most aggravating sources of annoyance in Arthur's life were about to meet. They would without a doubt team up with the common goal of being the final push to send Arthur over the edge and kick start his glorious decent into madness.

Alfred bounded up to Arthur, looking like an enormous friendly dog and as Francis raised an eyebrow at Arthur, regarding the handsome American running towards them, Arthur accepted that this would be his life now. Constant mortification, stress, vexation, at the hands of the two morons, now sharing unsettling smiles.

"Hey _buddy_, what a surprise seeing you here." Alfred was a rubbish actor, the contempt and overdone sarcasm in his voice were so obvious that even someone as dense as Francis could sense the mutual dislike that they had for each other.

Due to the unique relationship that he shared with Arthur, Francis was legally obliged to befriend anyone Arthur hated. Arthur would always insist that that was the only reason Francis had any friends.

"Oh, Arthur, mon cher, who's this charming young man and why haven't you told me about him?" Francis leered at Arthur, the expression on his face made it seem as though all Arthur's juiciest secrets had been presented to him on a silver platter along with a glass of his favourite wine.

"Because I don't know this man." Arthur grumbled.

It was very clear that neither Alfred nor Francis were going to pay any attention to Arthur. He could strip down and stand nude in the middle of the street and they'd still carry on, oblivious to anything other than their petty little 'let's make Arthur's life a living Hell' campaign.

Alfred completely ignored Arthur - as expected - and leant around him to shake hands with Francis.

"Hey I'm Alfred. Nice to meet you."

"Francis Bonnefoy. A pleasure." Francis took Alfred's hand captive and gifted it a tender lingering kiss. The smile on his face made Arthur want to vomit up the lining of his stomach.

"How is it that a lovely man such as yourself has become acquainted with a miserable grouch like Arthur?" Francis gestured at Arthur rudely and Arthur's scowl deepened so much that his eyebrows almost completely eclipsed his eyes.

"Well, Arthur's my first _friend_ here. We met on the train a week ago and hit it off right away."

Francis's smile widened even more than Arthur had thought was humanly possible. Francis turned to look pointedly at Arthur. "Oh sourcils, how does it feel to have made you first friend - not counting your imaginary ones of course?"

Arthur gritted his teeth and smiled happily back at Francis. "I don't know _Franny_, but how does it feel to smell like garlic purée?"

Francis ignored Arthur, flipping his hair haughtily he returned his attention to Alfred. "Actually, Alfred. Arthur and I are meeting with friends tomorrow for drinks." He paused to smirk at Arthur. "You're more than welcome to join us."

"That sounds great!"

Arthur suddenly felt the urge to throw himself into the Thames.

"Fabulous, the Three Doves pub at eight."

"I can't wait!"

The two idiots grinned at Arthur gormlessly before Alfred started and checked his watch. "Oh shit, I've gotta go. See you tomorrow Francis." He shot an evil grin in Arthur's direction. "You too Artie."

He ran off, leaving Arthur alone with Francis and in that moment Arthur just wanted to spontaneously combust.

"Artie?"

That single, innocent - or not-so-innocent as it was coming from Francis - question was the last straw and Arthur simply couldn't bear to not kick Francis in the shin.

He was _really_ glad that his Doc Martens had a steel toe cap.

* * *

><p>If looks could kill... From the poisonous stare Arthur was stabbing him with - a look that alone would be able to curdle milk - Alfred would be on a slab in the morgue as stone cold as the coldest stone that was ever either cold or a stone.<p>

Arthur sipped his beer threateningly. The evening was not turning out to be very enjoyable for him. Alfred had arrived at the pub, despite Arthur very nearly resorting to ritual sacrifice in the hopes that it would make Alfred suddenly become plagued with a bout of diarrhoea. He'd been happy and annoying in baggy bleached jeans and a navy woollen v-neck that looked illegally soft, talking almost constantly and eating large handfuls of the cheese and onion crisps that were supposed to be being shared by all six of them

Alfred had been the centre of attention as soon as he'd entered the mock-Tudor building, stooping to not hit his head of the low ceiling. He'd joined the party in their circular booth, scooting in next to Arthur, grinning like a lunatic and seeming to not even take a break from yapping on about trivial rubbish to even breath.

To Arthur's misery the only other person who seemed to have a problem with Alfred was Lovino, but that wasn't any relief because it was common knowledge that Lovino hated nearly everyone. Arthur had wanted to complain about Alfred to someone and to chat pleasantly about how much they loathed him, that would have made his night worth something at least. Arthur had eventually, after around an hour of glaring, resigned himself to ignoring Alfred and just getting completely and utterly hammered. It would do him some good to not remember this night so much the next day.

Eventually the inevitable happened and someone asked the question that had been hovering in the minds of Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert.

"Are you and Arthur together?" The question was delivered bluntly by a very fed up looking Lovino, who'd probably just got frustrated by the curious glances shot across the table and decide to just throw the inquiry out into the open.

Alfred laughed his loud obnoxious laugh and jostled Arthur's elbow causing the Englishman to put his glass down before the group had a sticky beer covered table to deal with. "Arthur wishes but no. I'm a total lone wolf, single pringle looking to mingle."

The entire table looked slightly more at ease at the statement, at least they did until Arthur grunted and muttered into his drink "I've been meeting up with Tom."

A silence so heavy it was clinically obese fell over the table, sufficiently squashing the happy atmosphere. Alfred wanted- no, he needed to know who Tom was. It seemed that whoever he was, he wasn't good news and Alfred was so curious he thought he was going to burst.

Francis put his hands up to his face in contemplation and Arthur glanced sheepishly at his displeased expression. Alfred tried to desperately ignore the look of disappointment and anger in Francis' sky blue eyes. He wanted to be included in whatever secret conversation was going on and he felt pathetically out of the loop.

"Tom." Gilbert said seriously, putting his beer down for the first time that evening. "That's not one of your best ideas Art."

Arthur fixed a fierce glare on Gilbert and sneered at his concern in a way that made Alfred feel very uncomfortable. "It'll be fine. Gilbert, there's no need for you to worry." It wasn't said in a very reassuring way, it sounded to Alfred like Arthur was mocking Gilbert.

The silence sat for a minute longer. Arthur let his eyes roam around, daring anyone to say a single word and get their tongue bitten off. Alfred could only watch the disappointment on the faces of his new friends. He reeeeaaally wanted to know what was going on, but he couldn't ask when Arthur would kill him if he did.

As quickly as the wind changes, the miserable atmosphere disappeared and was replaced by a much more pleasant one when a quartet of pretty young women bustled past their table, chatting and giggling, the table returned to how it had been before Tom had been mentioned.

Francis turned to Alfred. "Which Hotel are you staying at?" The question was obviously being commandeered as a way for the group to steer away from the awkwardness and Alfred was more than happy to comply with Francis in his attempt to lighten the atmosphere even further.

"I live here actually." Alfred answered cheerfully and Arthur looked up from his drink, a look of horror on his face.

"Oh, pardon me, mon ami. I didn't mean to make assumptions." Francis apologised and reached for his drink.

"It's fine, dude. I've only been here for like two weeks anyways so I probably still seem like a tourist. I only moved into my house and started my new job recently."

Arthur suddenly stood up and walked over to the bar. He wasn't interested in hearing about Alfred's job or anything else the idiot had to say. All that mattered was that Alfred lived in London. He wouldn't be disappearing back over the pond after a few weeks, he'd be staying in London to torment Arthur for the foreseeable future. Arthur chucked back the rest of his beer and slouched down in the bar stool, miserable and angry.

Along the bar to his right was a man sitting alone with his face held over his drink, he hiccoughed miserably and sniffed back tears. Arthur looked him over, he was definitely on his own, his coat had been thrown over the empty barstool. If Arthur walked past quickly and inconspicuously enough he would be able to dip in and out of the coat pocket undetected.

Unbeknownst to Arthur a certain blonde American was watching him. Alfred recognised the confident and calculating look on Arthur's face, he'd seen it many times during his scheduled Arthur watching sessions and he'd seen it enough times to know what would be happening next.

They moved at the same time.

Arthur brushed past barstools as he approached his target. Alfred leapt up from his seat, disturbing the table and ignoring the looks of confusion and concern on the faces of his new friends. Arthur stretched out his arm at the same time as Alfred. They collided and Alfred wrapped his hand tightly around Arthur's wrist, hovering mere inches away from the man who had unknowingly just been saved from a massive inconvenience.

Arthur moved to shake Alfred off him and Alfred tightened his grip threateningly, a silent warning to Arthur not to make a scene. Arthur stared at the hand on his wrist before letting his glare meet Alfred's own stony and resolute one. In that moment, Alfred was nearly certain that Arthur wanted to murder him with his own bare hands, but Alfred stood his ground, he didn't budge a hair's width under the fiery hatred of Arthur's stare.

Arthur gritted his teeth and relaxed his stance, allowing Alfred to drag him away from the bar and back towards the table their group were sitting around.

With muttered unconvincing excuses, Arthur was dragged out of the pub. It was only a short walk back to Arthur's flat and Alfred led the way. Occasionally during the journey, Arthur would attempt to wriggle his way out of Alfred's unwavering grip and each time he would be rewarded with a rough yank in the direction they were heading.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at Arthur's front door Alfred finally let go of Arthur and the thief unlocked the door, skulking inside and up the flights of steep stairs. Alfred followed him into his flat and wondered around shyly, he didn't know what exactly to do with himself, but he was tired and Arthur's sofa looked very alluring.<p>

"I usually offer my guests a cup of tea, but you're not my guest and I'd like you to leave." Arthur's voice echoed from the kitchen and Alfred chuckled to himself at the obvious annoyance in the Englishman's voice, it was quite refreshing after the tenseness of the walk to Arthur's flat.

"Make me." Alfred sat down, sinking into cushions and swinging his feet - still wearing his shoes - up onto the polished coffee table. He smirked when he heard Arthur exhale sharply.

"You're not welcome here, Alfred. I just want some peace and quiet." He did sound exhausted, he also looked fed up from the way he was massaging his forehead and scrunching up his face.

Alfred's selective hearing kicked in and he skipped over Arthur's obvious request for him to get the fuck out.

"Sooo... Like, what do you do for fun around here? Do you have any good movies?" He smiled at Arthur who just stared at him, a dumbstruck expression mixed with utter disbelief on his face.

"How can you behave with such complete impudence. The gall you must have to act like this. You're obviously an imbecile so I guess I'll just have to be blunt." Arthur took a deep breath before walking over to Alfred and screaming in his face. "Get the FUCK. Out. Of my FLAT!"

He was seething with anger, inconsolable in his rage. Alfred could see him shaking, his face had gone a dark shade of red and in what was surely the most stupid move ever, Alfred laughed right in the man's face. "Why should I?" Arthur's floundered slightly and backed away from Alfred, confused at the American finding such humour in the situation.

"Because I asked so fucking nicely." Arthur quipped dryly and Alfred laughed again.

"No dude you forget to say please."

"I'm serious though, Alfred. Please leave."

"I can't not after what I saw you try to do."

"What?"

Arthur was confused, he'd tried to ask nicely why couldn't the idiot just get out of his house. Why was Alfred so intent on making his life difficult, was he really that upset by the whole pick-pocketing thing? And if he was that angry about Arthur stealing, why didn't he go to the police? Alfred definitely had enough evidence to have Arthur locked up, why didn't he just do what any sane person would? Arthur was so confused, he couldn't understand Alfred in the slightest. What was wrong with the boy? What motives could he possibly have?

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in confusion, "Why don't you just go to the fucking police?" he raised his voice, walking towards Alfred.

"I'm going to deal with this myself. I don't need cops to-" Alfred was cut off when Arthur laughed bitterly.

"Oh yes I remember, you're going to deal with me yourself, aren't you?" Alfred noticed how Arthur employed the same mocking tone from back in the pub and once again it made his skin crawl in the most unpleasant way imaginable,

Arthur stood over Alfred threateningly, he was nearly shouting now and the anger was back in his eyes. "Go on Alfred, tell me how you've been _dealing_ with me when all you've been doing is following me around and annoying me! You haven't stopped me from stealing. The only thing that you've done, is inconvenience me, akin to a tube delay or light rain."

Arthur threw his hands up in exasperation and paced in a tight circle before turning back to Alfred and screaming at him. "If you're going to 'deal' with me then do so! Because right now, being locked up in the filthiest prison on Earth would be preferable to putting up with your torturous presence!"

Arthur could see the anger in Alfred's eyes, so he wasn't very surprised when the American leapt up and pushed him harshly against the wall. The breath rushed out of Arthur's lungs from the force of the impact and the clock hanging to his left swung in its place on the wall threateningly. Alfred's breathing was heavy and audible in the stunned silence of the room, his face screwed up and his teeth clenched together in an obvious attempt to control his rage.

Arthur considered that Alfred could potentially be dangerous, unpredictable and strong, he could certainly overcome Arthur in a simple battle of strength. But Arthur was fast and small, wraith-like in his ability to move through throngs of shoppers and commuters, and right now his rage was certainly a match for Alfred's. So instead of submitting to the larger man and letting Alfred think that he won the battle, Arthur swung his fist in a vicious right hook.

Alfred stumbled back and Arthur took advantage of his momentary confusion, pushing Alfred down. In a matter of seconds the two men were rolling around on the floor. Alfred's hands wrapped around Arthur's neck in retaliation to another punch that this time bounced off his nose. A knee was rammed into Alfred's groin, causing him to hiss in pain and loosen his tight grip around Arthur's throat. He rolled them over again, straddling Arthur to grip messy blonde hair in both hands, lifting Arthur's head and attempting to slam it into the floor. The movement was stunted when Arthur turned his head to sink his teeth into Alfred's wrist. Alfred quickly removed his hands from Arthur's hair and regarded the red bite mark on his soft side of his wrist with disbelief. That would leave a bruise.

His eyes flickered down to glance at Arthur and his breath caught unexpectedly. The man beneath him was flushed, his chest moving up and down in time with his heavy breathing. Alfred could nearly feel the fury that Arthur's bottle green stare was emanating, and even though he still felt furious at the man he was straddling, he briefly forgot the entire reason for his being there.

Arthur's hair was ruffled with the memory of Alfred's hands gripping it and his khaki green jumper had ridden up, revealing to Alfred how close his hands were to brushing pale, soft-looking skin.

Arthur's eyes widened with ill-disguised anticipation. Of what? Alfred didn't know.

All he did know is that Arthur's frown relaxed, and his slowed breathing became shaky. It was in that moment that Alfred realised he was leaning down, slowly arching his back to move his face closer to Arthur's. His hands moved from next to Arthur's waist to either side of his head, feeling the hot ghost of Arthur's breath on his face, he leant in and pressed his hastily wetted-with-his-tongue lips to Arthur's own parted and expecting pair.


	5. Tom

As Alfred kissed him, Arthur closed his eyes and pushed his body into the floor, shrinking away from Alfred's touch, desperately attempting to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He hadn't been expecting this turn of events when he'd started shouting at the American.

Alfred was heavy and hot on top of him, leading the dance with a forceful close-mouthed kiss that felt both dominant and tentative at the same time. His hands roved over Arthur's chest, keeping Arthur pinned down against the cold and hard floorboards.

Alfred's tongue pried open his lips, deepening and intensifying the kiss, and when Alfred seized a handful of his hair, Arthur wasn't sure if he was entirely enjoying this turn of events. He didn't like his movements being restricted by the larger man's body on top of his. He didn't want to yield to Alfred like a timid Victorian maid, he preferred his sexual conquests to be challenging and involve a healthy amount of competition.

Taking hold of Alfred's golden-coloured locks, Arthur yanked his head back breaking the kiss, but in the same manoeuvre, as the American removed his lips, he followed the movements of the man's body and hungrily claimed his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. If he desired to gain some semblance of control over the situation, he'd have to be rough.

Arthur flicked his tongue over Alfred's teeth, tasting and teasing as the two of them forgot their contempt for each other and became lost in the passion of their touches and kisses. Their activities took on a more violent and frenzied turn, and as hair got pulled and lips go bitten, clothes were in the process of being torn off.

Tops were the first things to go - thrown carelessly onto the floor and furniture - and immediately newly bared skin was being worshipped with tongues, hands, lips, and eyes. Alfred ignored the ugly bruise on Arthur's hip, the nail marks on his arms and shoulders, and the faded love-bite on the side of his chest. Alfred saw them, but he didn't acknowledge them. That would mean breaking their kiss and pausing their current... exploits. Alfred didn't want to ever stop.

Arthur nibbled on Alfred's bottom lip, tugging on it when he suddenly sat up, one hand grasped onto Alfred's backside and he flipped their positions in such a graceful move that Alfred hardly even noticed when his back hit the floor. From Arthur's position of vantage he grappled with Alfred's belt before wrenching it loose and throwing it across the room. It arced in the air before slapping down onto the wooded floor, it was an oddly erotic noise, seeming to embody the neediness and passion of the moment. Arthur kissed Alfred's chest, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses as he journeyed down Alfred's abdomen.

Alfred's breath caught at the sultry look of mischief on Arthur's face and the most intense come-hither eyes Alfred had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Transfixed and in awe, Alfred watched Arthur take the metal fly of his jeans between his teeth and with the clinking of teeth on metal, draw it down in such a painfully slow fashion that Alfred nearly whined. The button was undone and his jeans were quickly pulled down allowing Arthur to lick teasingly along the tan-line that had been hidden beneath the waistline of his jeans.

Arthur looked down at the man beneath him and felt like sighing. He'd forgotten himself in the moment and it wasn't hard to see why. Alfred was gorgeous, sprawled out panting on the floor, delightfully delicious-looking and ready for the taking. Arthur needed to restrain himself before he did something that he would be sure to regret later.

Arthur considered that Alfred, in all his tanned and muscled splendour must surely had a motive. He couldn't imagine the boy ever allowing Arthur to even touch him if there was nothing in it for him. Alfred was probably searching for more leverage, Arthur's eyes narrowed and his throat constricted at the thought of someone trying to use him. That Alfred would go so far to in his attempt to achieve his own special brand of justice. Exploitation was second nature for an amoral thief like Arthur, he played people like a champion and he wouldn't allow for anyone else to beat him at his own game.

Arthur had been thinking a lot about Alfred's threat. He was rather sure that Alfred's video evidence had been obtained through unsavoury means, he knew for a fact that the American had entered his flat illegally and had been stalking him obsessively for around a week. Would that be enough to discredit any of Alfred's evidence? If only that damned video didn't exist, then Arthur could easily wriggle his way out of any theft charges. If whatever Alfred was planning would allow Arthur to put all this behind him and move on with his life, should he go along with it? Well he didn't have any moral issues with having sex for favours and in the end he'd probably benefit from the intercourse more than Alfred.

Alfred couldn't help but notice Arthur's sudden unresponsiveness, he looked up at him in puzzlement and moved to touch Arthur's shoulder. Arthur had a distractedly faraway look in his eyes, and a blank uninvolved look on his face. Frankly, it freaked Alfred out, it seemed like the Englishman wasn't mentally there in the moment, despite continuing to kiss and touch Alfred passionately.

Arthur jerked back into awareness at Alfred tentative touch to his shoulder. He needed to know what Alfred wanted, he needed to know what the transaction would entail. He kissed Alfred, sucking on the man's lips and nibbling on it gently before asking Alfred a breathless question.

"This is what you want?"

Alfred didn't have to ponder the question, he mumbled an affirmative into Arthur skin as the thief dipped his head to adorn Alfred jaw line with his kisses, his hips rolling like pleasant summer waves,

"Sex for your silence."

Alfred pulled away and stared at the man that his arms were wrapped around. "What?"

Arthur simply reached down to touch him, Alfred sucked in his breath and tried to scramble away from the deft hands teasing the sensitive skin of his abdomen. What did Arthur think of him? Was this what he usually did, engage in casual sex in and in return get other people to do things for him? Like a prostitute paid with favours?

Arthur undid his own belt and started to peel his black skinny-jeans off his skin, "If I let you fuck me." His eyes glittered nastily with something Alfred didn't want to identify."You must promise to never make my criminal activities known to my friends and family."

"Tha- that's not what I want-!" Worry and something that resembled fear flashed in Alfred's eyes. "I don't know what I want." He hastily stood up, pulling up his jeans and quickly retrieving the rest of his clothes from where they had landed haphazardly after being ripped from his body. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights as he scrambled for his clothing, he didn't even bother putting them back on, electing to bundle them up and zip his jacket up over his naked chest.

"I wasn't thinking. Sorry.. I- I don't want this- I have to go!" Alfred had tears of mortification hazing his vision, he stumbled as he backed away, hands raised in an apology and voice wavering.

He couldn't get out of there fast enough. Slamming the front door behind him he let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. Falling back against the front door, he slid down to sit on the dirty floor, burying his face in his hands he made a muffled, frustrated yelling sound.

* * *

><p>They managed to avoid each other for a week. But eventually social commitments caused the two to share uncomfortable companionship once more. Alfred had put his Arthur-stalking duties on pause for the entirety of the week. It wasn't that he thought Arthur had been reformed and Alfred's services were no longer needed. It was because even at a distance, it was just too damn <em>awkward <em>to see the man again after what had transpired between them. Even though Arthur wouldn't know he would be watching him, it would still be awkward.

Just thinking about how close they had been to doing something completely unthinkable made Alfred's head hurt. If Alfred had had sex with Arthur, he'd never ever _ever_ forgive himself! He really didn't want to think about how the only reason he'd stopped was because of Arthur's proposed weird sex-deal. He could have easily and happily carried on and then he would have ended up upset and disgusted at himself. he was already grossed out by how little self control he had. He knew that Arthur was good-looking, on top of the fact that he'd always been attracted to bad boys, but Alfred had weighed out he risks, decided that he could easily resist the Englishman's charm. And yet, it merely required a toxic mix of loneliness, homesickness, and anger, and Alfred had abandoned what he stood for - for the sake of a needy fuck with a sexy criminal.

Alfred was sitting in Francis' fancy shmancy restaurant, looking as out of place as he could possible look, wearing the wrinkled hoodie he'd slept in and probably with food all over his face. Alfred felt nauseous and the enormous continental breakfast he'd inhaled in record time wasn't to blame. The breakfasts at Francis' restaurant were so good they were practically orgasmic... No, it was the person who'd just entered the fancy Michelin-starred joint causing of Alfred's sudden queasiness.

Francis owned a very prestigious restaurant in Kensington, on weekdays he'd cook the most delicious breakfasts for his friends for only a fraction of the price they should have been sold at. Alfred had definitely taken advantage of Francis' kindness by consuming a disgusting amount almost every morning. Of course Alfred wasn't the only one of Francis' friends who turned up to eat his famous breakfasts - Francis had disclosed to Alfred that someone had once tried to exchange a luxury yacht for the honour of breakfast dining at his restaurant, Alfred wasn't sure if he believed him, but judging from the quality of his meals it was certainly feasible - so naturally, Alfred came into contact with the vast majority of Francis' close friends. He felt as though he was slowly integrating into Francis and Arthur's friendship group - the prospect that he'd finally returned to his social butterfly, always-surrounded-by-friends status made him stupidly happy. He'd really missed being surrounded by friendly faces.

So he'd never thought he'd ever find himself regretting having chosen to eat breakfast out at Francis' restaurant. But of course that had to change as the universe seemed to make a habit of proving Alfred wrong, and now he found himself regretting entering the establishment as he watched Arthur walk over to one of the tables next the kitchen.

Alfred immediately cupped his hand to shield his face from Arthur's toxic-green gaze, but he quickly realised that Arthur would probably recognise him, even if he couldn't see Alfred's entire face. There was no chance that Alfred could duck out without being seen - he didn't really want to leave before having dessert and he'd fight anyone who told him he couldn't have dessert with breakfast - so he sentenced himself to awkwardly pretend that he was invisible all the while Arthur was in the building.

He snapped his head around when he noticed a man he'd never seen before in his life enter the establishment and walk over to stand uncomfortably close - for Alfred - to Arthur. The man was tall and sturdily-built with curly brown hair styled in a floppy pompadour haircut so that an arrowhead of curls drooped a little over his forehead - Alfred assumed that the man wasn't very clever because no intelligent person would have a haircut that seemed as though it obscured the man's vision horribly, but maybe Alfred was a little biased due to the man's proximity to Arthur... and damn it! Why wasn't Arthur telling the man to 'back the fuck off!' as Alfred had seen him do ever other time anyone wrapped their arm around his waist in the same way that the man was now doing.

Alfred's brain suddenly stuttered to a halt. Was this the Tom guy that Arthur was apparently 'meeting up with'? Was this the man that no one had been happy to hear about? Alfred's curiosity flared up viciously and he stared at the man with an openly hostile gaze.

Francis poked his head out of the kitchen and Alfred noticed how his face immediately fell. It made Alfred happy that he wasn't the only one made uncomfortable by Tom's presence. When Francis muttered something angrily at Arthur and turned an obviously forced smile on Tom, the man started laughing. His laugh was hearty and deep, loud enough that Alfred could hear it from across the restaurant. Arthur talked to Francis briefly before the Frenchman retreated back into the kitchen, that left Arthur and Tom alone - unaware that Alfred was watching them.

Tom grabbed onto the belt loops of Arthur's jeans to pull the smaller man snug against his body. Another wave of nausea washed over Alfred at the way Arthur moulded to Tom's body, the coy look on his face and the slender arms that he wrapped around Tom's neck. For a moment it looked like they were about to kiss, Alfred thought that he might actually be sick if that were to happen. Luckily for him Tom pulled away... _Tom_ pulled away, not Arthur. That broke Alfred a little. Arthur didn't seem concerned though, he laughed happily and moved over to the kitchen door, pulling Tom with him. That was the first time Alfred ever heard Arthur laugh. He felt his stomach flip and his throat tighten, he felt disgusted at himself.

Francis returned from the kitchen, the angry expression still on his face and holding a plastic bag out for Arthur to take. And with that, Arthur and Tom walked out of the restaurant. As they walked to the door, Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur, he didn't miss the moment that Arthur's eyes slid over to meet his. Alfred kept eye contact and hoped that Arthur wouldn't be able to see through the expression-less mask he'd donned, Arthur smirked wickedly in retaliation and disappeared through the door.

Alfred sat staring at the door, unresponsive to Francis flopping dramatically onto the chair opposite him with a sigh of exasperation. "That man will be the death of me."

That peaked Alfred's interest and he focused on Francis face. "Arthur?" he asked curiously. Francis looked sideways at Alfred with a knowing look in his eyes, "Who else?" He laughed bitterly.

"Why?" Alfred questioned, leaning forwards. Francis avoided his question, instead rolling his eyes and smiling fondly at Alfred. Alfred tried again. "Was Tom that man with Arthur?"

"Oui."

Alfred stayed uncharacteristically quiet, thinking about the interactions between Arthur and Tom, he was curious about why the mere mention of Tom's name had been enough to sour the atmosphere back in the pub, and yet the man hadn't seemed anything other than kind towards Arthur.

"You and Arthur are friends, yes?" Alfred wasn't sure how to respond to Francis' question. He couldn't tell anyone about their weird relationship, how Arthur was a criminal and that Alfred had stalked and black-mailed him.

"Yes."

"You must have noticed by now." Francis said, "That Arthur is different from the average person."

"How?" Alfred was really confused and intrigued now.

"Well for one, he'd be happy to kick a dying pensioner if it meant he'd somehow benefit from it."

Alfred had certainly noticed Arthur's I-don't-give-a-shit attitude towards what was morally right or wrong, that had been painfully obvious to Alfred from nearly the beginning of their 'relationship'. He supposed that Francis' scenario was realistic.

"Arthur is different in scary and dangerous ways. Tom is proof of that." Francis almost sounded sad when he said that. "Arthur once had the power and inclination to ruin that poor man's life. And that was exactly what he did. He targeted him, he fixated on Tom like a pit bull and he sucked the life of the man."

Alfred wasn't so sure that he agreed with Francis, "But he didn't look like he'd had the life sucked out of him, he'd looked real happy." Alfred argued.

"Oh, I'm sure he is." Francis said airily, "He loves Arthur, as a matter of fact."

"What?" Alfred froze, he suddenly felt ridiculously angry for no discernible reason.

"Tom adores him completely and unabashedly, he loves him to such an extent that he can't see what he's doing to him, Arthur destroyed his life and he still can't see what happening right in front of his eyes." Francis took a moment to inspect his nails before continuing wistfully, "Love is blinding, is it not?"

Alfred agreed, love was blinding. "Why did Arthur do that?"

"Because he can." Francis shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world for one's friend to ruin someone's marriage and not feel at all guilty about doing so. He checked the stylish watch on his wrist and sighed, "I should get back to work, I need to prepare for the lunch crowd."

"Thanks for the food Francis!" Alfred grinned his pearly white smile, "It was great as always."

Francis got up and walked back to the kitchen, waving a dismissive hand in Alfred's direction. "Thank you Alfred."

Alfred sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and let his head loll back. It wasn't like Francis had told him anything had hadn't either known or suspected. The only thing that had caught him off guard was that Tom was in love with Arthur, he had seemed happy, being with the person you loved would do that. Then why was he feeling so weird? Alfred just couldn't comprehend why finding out that someone loved Arthur unconditionally made him feel so odd.

He had always assumed that everyone else saw Arthur in the same way that he did, as a fiendishly horrible - albeit ridiculously attractive - criminal. It had only just dawned on Alfred that he was the only one who knew about that side of Arthur, the part that he kept hidden from his friends and family, buried deeply within himself and pretended that it didn't exist. Weirdly enough, it made Alfred feel happy that was the only person to know Arthur's deepest secret. And yet at the same time he couldn't help wondering what Arthur was like when he was around his friends and family without Alfred being there. Did he act differently? Or was it that he was only himself around Alfred because it was only then that he had nothing to hide?

That morning Alfred left Francis' restaurant with more than enough food for thought. Arthur was such a curiosity, and Alfred was intrigued.

* * *

><p>I'm sure it's been noticed by now, but this is not simple story about a criminal and a vigilante. It's about a high-functioning criminal sociopath and a disillusioned extrovert with a disastrous obsession. I could have titled this fic 'GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE ALFRED, BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!' and it still would have suited the story to a T.<p>

I have no excuse for the time it took me to write this chapter. The only reason is that I'm too fucking lazy. I'm going to pretend that chronic laziness is a legitimate excuse for not doing shit.

So much appreciation to anyone who reviewed. Praise really makes writing worth the effort and it makes me more likely to update sooner - hint hint. ;p


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